


Hocus Focus: John Offers Up Paul to a Hypnotist

by waveofahand



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Daddy!Implied, Hypnosis, M/M, McLennon, One Shot, Ties and Belts, Why is Paul undressing in public?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand
Summary: At a boring awards luncheon, a hypnotist comes on stage to entertain the crowd, and John wants to see Paul put under.





	Hocus Focus: John Offers Up Paul to a Hypnotist

**Author's Note:**

> This is total fiction. It never happened. I made it all up, and I don't own the Beatles. And John is SUCH a bastard.

  
  
In general, John Lennon hated these sorts of fussy award luncheons that Eppy made them attend -- these smoky hotel banquet rooms crammed with boring old stuffed shirts and serving up rubbery roast beef and lumpy gravy. It was a drag.

But,"It's good for you to go," Eppy had said, "We're starting to get big, and this sort of thing let's people know The Beatles are respectable lads up from Liverpool, and not criminals."

Paul, typically, had supported Eppy, and there they were, enduring an English hell, which was a very, very polite form of social torture.

But this time, Lennon found that he was unexpectedly enjoying himself thanks to this afternoon's diverting entertainment. The writer's club had invited a psychologist/hypnotist to demonstrate how easy it was to put someone -- even a skeptic -- under control by tapping into their suggestive sub-conscious mind, and John wanted to see how it would play out.

"I would ask for a volunteer from the audience coming up to help me this afternoon, especially someone who does not believe in hypnosis," the psychologist announced.

A low murmur arose from the tables as mostly male attendees encouraged one another to give it a go. A great deal of scoffing and phrases like "_No, not I,_" could be heard all around. 

"G'head, Johnny," Paul nudged at John Lennon. "Prove him wrong. Quite sure you can't be put under."

John, who had no intention of finding out whether that might be true or not, shook his head. 

"Nay, Macca, not me. You do it. You're enough of a skeptic to be able to resist the swinging pocketwatch, ain't you?"

Paul wrinkled his nose. "Not sure I'd like it. Jane's father does this, you know -- in fact he probably knows this fella."

"Well, then? If your girlfriend's vaunted father does this nonsense, you should feel pretty safe with it, yeah?" John turned his head toward the stage and in a loud voice announced, "Macca is yer man, then!"

He made a show of pointing at Paul. "Bet you can't put him under and make him squawk like a chicken!"

"John, _no_," Paul breathed at him. "Stop, I don't want to! Especially not if he's going to do _that!_" 

The man onstage had pursed his lips at John's outburst, taking offense at his suggestion. "I assure you, Mr. Lennon, that I would never so abuse or humiliate anyone under hypnosis, and most particularly not Mr. McCartney, who I understand is a very respectable young man."

"_Respectable_," John chuckled through a cigarette perched on his lips. "I've heard that, too! All the more reason to put him under! He won't embarrass _you_, either!" The room collectively applauded, encouraging Paul to agree to the experiment.

"I'm going to kill you," Paul whispered to Lennon between gritted teeth as he had no choice but to stand up. "You're _dead_. Just so you know. I'll tell Mimi where I've buried you..."

"Aw, _Paulie..._' John teased, just as quietly, "You can make me pay for this later, love." 

"Be sure, I will..." The applause got louder as Paul McCartney made his way up to the stage.

Later, as the luncheon was concluding with cake and coffee, Paul mused on the afternoon. "He wasn't so bad, that hypnotist, was he?"

"Very impressive," John agreed. "Never thought you'd go under so easily, either, lad. But we've been working hard and you were tired. He said being under for a few minutes would be as refreshing as an 8-hour kip. Do you feel that way, now?"

"Aye, I do feel pretty rested," Paul confessed. "And you say all he did was suggest I undo me cufflinks and untie my shoes and then do them up again, yeah?"

"He gave you a suggestion like that, yeah," John smiled. "Made it so that if you heard a specific word, you'd start to undress that way, yeah." 

Paul frowned, not liking that notion. "Well, I hope it wasn't too common a word," he said. "I can't be undoing my cuffs and shoes every time I hear something like 'Sunday' or 'Swordfish', can I? What was the word, then?"

John put his coffee cup down with a light clatter, "Don't recall, now, do I? I wouldn't worry about it, aye? The word was so obscure I can't even recall what it was."

"Not likely to come up on ordinary conversation, then, you think?" Paul still looked worried. "I really _wouldn't_ like that."

"Not at all, Paulie, no chance of it. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Stop calling me pretty," Paul rolled his eyes. "You know I don't like it, and by the way, don't think you're getting off easy later on. I meant it when I said you'd pay for putting me in that position, forcing me up there."

John leaned in. "I prefer not to get off too easily, love, so I look forward to whatever position you want to put me in, and forcing whatever you like up there."

_"John!"_ Paul hissed, looking about to see if anyone had heard that. "Jesus, you're a handful."

"More than just a handful, Macca," Lennon grinned wickedly. "But you already know that. I'm putty in your hands."

Paul's shoulders were raised and his face flushed. He didn't like to show anger in public, but John was being stupidly reckless. And incorrigible, to boot. "You know, perhaps I'll forget about this, after all. No point in trying to set you right when you look forward to it this much. I'm not rewarding you for being a bastard this afternoon. You can sod off. I'll make other plans. What do you say to that, then, hey?"

"Walrus," John replied quietly. 

Still looking at John, Paul lifted up his collar and began to undo his tie. "And another thing, Lennon -- " he started, unaware of what he was doing. 

"Eggman." John said, licking his lips. 

Paul looked down at his hands, wondering at his undone tie. 

"You should go ahead and take that off, before anyone sees the spot," John suggested helpfully.

"Aye, we're just about done here, anyroad, yeah?" He frowned, looking about wonderingly. "Don't remember getting the spot..."

"Walrus," John repeated. Paul took his tie down the rest of the way, rolling it carefully. Having placed it in his jacket pocket, began to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

"Eggman," came the whisper. "You alright, Paulie?"

McCartney shook his head a bit, his hands coming down from his neck. "I dunno...maybe something's not agreeing with me. Feel a bit off, now, ain't I? We finished here, then?"

"Aye, we are," John said, standing up. He helped Paul to his feet and, draping an arm about his partner's shoulders, directed him toward the exits. "Let's get a room here, yeah? Rest a bit till you feel yourself?"

"It's not a bad idea, that," Paul agreed. "Although_ just_ to rest. I'm still not rewarding you --"

"Yes, Yes, I heard you, Dada. I'm too wicked to be disciplined, I got it."

With a great deal more discretion than Paul ever would have expected of him, John approached the concierge and managed to get a room key. Before he knew it, they were in the lift. John pressed the button for the top floor. 

"How'd you do it?" Paul asked. 

"Said we were expecting a few birds and winked a lot..." 

"Ah, clever." 

"Aye. And here we are, 8th floor, ladies apparel and rubber goods."

Paul chuckled and stepped out of the elevator. 

"Room 814," John directed. Oh, and Macca?"

"Aye, love?"

"Walrus." 

Paul began to strip off his jacket, dropping it to the floor as the walked. His hands went back to his collar and his shirt was fully opened before they reached the door to their room. He was tugging the shirtails from his trousers as John used the key. 

As Paul stepped in to the room, John put the "Do not Disturb" sign on the outside handle. He wouldn't be crying out "Eggman" anytime soon, he knew, because once Paul figured out what he was doing, he would let Lennon have it, after all. Good and hard, he'd let him have it, John knew. 

_I am the Eggman; he is the walrus...might be a nonsense song in that,_ John thought to himself as he watched Paul's shirt drop to the floor. _But for now, we've got something better to do. Goo-goo-ka-choo..._


End file.
